


I Didn't Know I Was (M)Pregnant

by milkysterek



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Away From Beacon Hills, Body Horror, Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, For My Fave, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Stiles, Steter Secret Santa, Unknown Mpreg, graphic birth, loving relationship, nice things, pregnancy symptoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 14:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13169187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkysterek/pseuds/milkysterek
Summary: Stiles likes to watch garbage programming like 'I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant'. You'd think he'd learn something.





	I Didn't Know I Was (M)Pregnant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esper_Found](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esper_Found/gifts).



> This is my Secret Santa gift for the number one lumberjack bae. Suprise bitch! I'm ya gifter! ILY and would kill for you.
> 
> I promise I'll do a thorough edit of this when I get home but it's my brother's birthday and I gotta bounce in ten minutes!!!!

The second week of November was when Stiles finally realised he’d gained weight. It was barely noticable and not even Stiles could tell when he had his shirt on. With his shirt off, however, he couldn’t stop himself from nitpicking - and nitpick he did. 

He stepped to the side, looking at himself in the floor length mirror that stood in the bedroom he shared with Peter, prodding at his slightly swollen stomach. There wasn’t that much fat on him at all but now that Stiles had spotted it, he couldn’t help but find other areas where he had let himself go; his hips felt bigger, wider somehow and, now that he thought about it, he did feel a bit heavier. It wasn’t a problem. Stiles had never cared about his appearance and he wasn’t going to start now. Still, he’d noticed and the noticing bothered him. 

“I’ve put on weight,” Stiles announced to the bedroom and Peter, who was sprawled across their king sized bed, looked up from his book, frowning. The older man watched him for a moment, looking him up and down before shrugging and going back to his book, “Well, at least I know it doesn’t bother you.”

“Obviously not,” Peter drawled and wet his finger before turning a page, “But with you not having to actively run for your life anymore, the lack of lacrosse practice and the fact that I found you hiding in our bathroom eating all the halloween candy I bought for trick or treaters the other week; you gaining a few pounds isn’t all that surprising.”

Stiles deadpan stared at his boyfriend’s reflection in the mirror. “That’s babe,” He said sarcastically, “I feel way better now.”

Peter smiled smarmily, not looking away from the text in front of him, “You’re welcome.”

After he was ready for bed, Stiles wiggled his way under the sheets and curled up against Peter’s warm body. The TV remote was already on the blankets and he grabbed for it before Peter could wrestle it out of his hands. Ha! That meant Stiles got to choose what they watched tonight, and he could pick any brain rotting reality show he wanted. When Stiles decided on his all time favourite trash show,  _ I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant _ , Peter groaned but Stiles ignored him. It would serve the bastard right for pointing out that he didn’t exercise anymore. 

 

The fatigue hit in early December; December first, to be exact. Stiles was doing his degree online - thanks to all that childhood werewolf-related trauma that stopped him being able to function the way he once had - so he didn’t have a set schedule anymore. Where once Stiles had a time he had to be up by in the morning and places he needed to be, now he was free to sleep in all day if he wanted - and exactly that’s what he did.

Peter prodded him awake when he came in from work, a worried expression on his face. Stiles was in the living room where he had apparently passed out on the couch after eating breakfast. He was about to ask Peter what was wrong and why he looked so tense when he gazed across the room and noticed the time. It was six in the evening. 

Fuck. 

“That’s so weird,” He muttered, sitting up and running both hands through his hair before resting his elbows on his knees with his head in his open palms. He felt the leather of the couch bend when Peter sat and wrapped a strong arm around his shoulders. 

“Did you sleep alright last night?” Peter asked. He was trying to play it cool but there was a strained quality to his voice that Stiles picked up on straight away. 

Stiles nodded, eyes locked on their penthouse floor, “Yeah. All night like always.”

They were quiet for a moment, both sitting in thought. Finally, Peter pressed his lips to Stiles’ temple and helped him up. “Come on,” He said, “You go up to bed and I’ll bring you something to eat. Relax for the rest of today and I’ll stay home with you tomorrow.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Stiles whined, reluctantly doing as he was told. 

“No,” Peter agreed, clearing the breakfast bowl away, “But this is the fourth day in a row you’ve been practically comatose. I’m worried it’s stress.”

Stiles frowned as he climbed the short set of steps that lead to their bedroom. When he got inside he changed into a clean pair of pyjamas, threw the old ones in the hamper and climbed under the sheets. When Peter came in carrying a bowl of chicken soup and a bun, Stiles was already half asleep. “Why would I be stressed?” He yawned, sitting up with his back against the headboard. Peter placed the bowl of soup in his lap and handed him the bun and a spoon. It was good, warm and healing. 

Peter huffed a laugh, closing the curtains and switching the television and a lamp on, “Because you’re you,” He said, like it was obvious. Well, he had a point. 

For all Stiles wasn’t going to school traditionally, getting a degree  _ was _ a lot of stress. He still had to do all the reading, the essays and assignments and didn’t have the benefit of seeing a teacher face to face. On top of that he also had to deal with the fallout of choosing to spend his life with Peter; his friends back home weren’t taking it well and while Stiles had managed to finally convince his dad that Peter was a good person, Scott and co. weren’t to be swayed. He understood their point of view a little; Peter had done some remarkably evil shit in the past but he’d also done good and proved himself to be a changed man. No one knew redemption quite like Stiles and having Peter around, well, for the first time in a long time, Stiles felt understood. 

At least his dad got it now. He was coming next week to help decorate the tree and after, he and Peter were going to spend some bonding time together. Stiles was thrilled; they’d come so far. 

“Are you going to be able to pick my dad up from the airport,” Stiles asked, suddenly worried. 

Peter frowned and swatted at the top of Stiles’ head, deliberately missing his mark, “See? Stop stressing,” He warned, then took a seat beside Stiles as the man slowly began to eat, “And yes. I took the day off. Perks of being the boss.”

Stiles hummed and smiled around the spoon, “Careful. Your employees might accuse you of slacking.”

“Not on their salary,” Peter winked and wrapped his arm around Stiles who curled into him, getting nice and comfortable, “Are you tired again?”

“Yeah,” Stiles yawned, taking another spoonful, “This is good soup though.”

“Thanks. It’s out of the can,” Peter snorted and pressed his lips to Stiles’ hair. 

It didn’t take long for Stiles to go back to sleep after his meal. He curled up on his slide and pressed his exhausted body against Peter’s strong chest. As always, he tucked his head under Peter’s chin and passed out to the rhythmic stroking of his boyfriend’s long fingers tracing up and down his spine. 

Peter stayed awake all night. 

 

By the time the Sheriff arrived the next week, Stiles’ sleeping schedule was back on track. He was still tired and groggy from time to time, but Peter had written him up a timetable and bought him some fancy schmancy vitamins that were supposed to make him bright eyed and bushy tailed. Stiles wasn’t completely sure the vitamins weren’t just expensive bullshit, but they seemed to be doing the job. Plus, they eased Peter’s growing anxiety so Stiles guessed they were good all around. 

Peter made good on his promise to pick up the Sheriff and by lunchtime he, Stiles and John were all gathered in the living room, hanging baubles and tinsel on the tree. 

“Would have thought you’d want a real one,” John said, looking the tree up and down in search of somewhere to stick the glittering golden reindeer he held in his hands. His hesitancy was well warranted; if he put the reindeer in the  _ wrong  _ place, Stiles’ eyes would bulge. 

Placing his own reindeer on the correct branch of their very fake christmas tree, Stiles pouted and stepped back to half admire his work, half sulk. “I did want a real one, but  _ someone _ ,” Stiles shot a look at Peter which left no uncertainty for who that someone was, “Said they cast too much.”

“I’m not spending the rest of the month sweeping up after a tree that smells bad and should be outside to begin with,” Peter defended primly, turning his nose up as he hung a bauble on a nearby branch. “Plus, they’re a fire hazard.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and placed his hand on the small of his back; it was hurting a little. “You don’t get to pull the fire card every time we disagree on something,” He said, but Peter didn’t seem to care. 

“Yes, yes, whatever,” he waved his hand, “Go get the next box of decorations. I want to put the electronics up.”

Begrudgingly, Stiles did as he was told and headed out to the storage room where they kept the decorations during the other eleven months of the year. Boxes upon boxes of unused baubles and ornaments and shimmery streamers were piled in tall towers throughout the small room. Most of them were from last year and years previous, discarded the second the tree came down and never looked at again. Each year, Stiles insisted on decorating the tree with a new theme which meant needing to buy new ornaments. He should probably donate the old ones, he thought, and started to dig through the mess in search of the electronics. 

It didn’t take him long to find them. There were five or six big, brown boxes filled with robotic santas, reindeers with light up noses and one particular snowman that sang sexbomb. Stiles has bought that one for Peter when they’d first gotten together and despite Stiles’ flakiness when it came to committing to christmas trinkets, the snowman had a home in their living room every year. 

“There you are,” Stiles smiled and crouched down, wrapping his arms around the sides of the box. He braced himself then stood, lifting the heavy load high before jolting forward as a sharp shoot of pain sliced up his spine. Crying out, Stiles dropped the box back down on the carpeted floor and doubled over, covering his mouth with his hand to stop from sobbing. 

Peter was there before Stiles could hit the floor.

“What happened?” He asked. Once upon a time ago, Stiles had thought Peter was always calm, cool and collected but now, after having spent so much time with his lover, he knew the wolf’s tells better than anyone. Peter was scared and Stiles knew it - and that was terrifying. 

Stiles tried to open his mouth and assure his boyfriend he was okay, but when he did all that came out was a broken, watery gasp. The pain was blinding and unlike anything Stiles had ever experienced before, which was saying something. His stomach felt tight, like it was tearing in two and no matter what he did, he couldn't seem to get his breath back. For a moment, he thought he was having a heart attack but that would be ridiculous; his heart was probably the only thing that  _ wasn’t _ hurting. Somehow, even his ass hurt. It was like there was a pressure there, something pushing down on him. Maybe his organs were going to fall out? Was that what that felt like? Was that even possible?

When Stiles finally regained his voice, all he managed to say was: “Ouch.”

“Where does it hurt?” Peter demanded and allowed his hand to be guided down over Stiles’ almost flat stomach. His hand slipped underneath the fabric of his shirt and instantly the excruciating pain began to numb and fade.

Stiles was only half relieved about that.

“What the hell happened there?” 

Looking up through wet eyes, Stiles blinked up at his dad and tried to regain some composure. He and Peter tried to refrain from being so openly physically affectionate in front of the Sheriff and right now Stiles was curled up in the wolf’s lap, crying (when did that start?) and getting groped. There wasn’t a lot of eye contact going on. 

“Probably a shit pain,” Stiles grinned, trying to break the tension - then immediately regretted his decision. It probably  _ was _ a shit pain, now that he thought about it and boy or boy was that embarrassing. 

Once Peter was satisfied that Stiles wasn’t about to keel over and die, Stiles got back to his feet and sighed with relief. Whatever that mystery pain was had gone now and Stiles went back to feeling how he had before he’d tried to lift that box. He brushed himself down and headed back out to the tree, deciding to leave the electronics to the others. 

 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” 

Peter stood at the end of their bed, pulling a dark coloured v-neck over his head and adjusting it on his perfectly sculpted body. He always looked great in v-necks and this one was no exception. It clung tight to his body, hugging him in all the right places and plunging down deep enough that some of his chest hair was on show. Damn. Stiles needed to stop thirsting. 

“Babe, I’m not letting you stay,” He said, instead of drooling on his pillow. If Peter didn’t leave soon, Stiles would probably chain him up to the bed. 

“Don’t call me babe,” Peter said, his voice light and air-like, then frowned, “And I’m being serious, Stiles. What happened earlier was weird.”

“Chill.” Stiles had no idea what had happened before but he felt right as rain now. He wasn’t hurting anymore and now that he was curled up in bed, the aching in his back had gone away too. There was no reason for Peter to be worrying himself, especially since he could sense when Stiles was lying to him, so he knew fine well he was feeling great. Still, if Stiles didn’t at least try to reassure him, he’d feel bad later. “Sometimes body parts just hurt. It’s a human thing, you wouldn’t understand - what with your durable, romance novel cover, wolfman body. I’m gonna take a bath soon and I bet it’ll have me feeling good as new.”

For a moment Peter looked like he was going to protest, put his foot down or something but then he dropped his overprotective werewolf boyfriend stance and waved Stiles off. Victory. “Fine,” He said, “But if it happens again, call me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles half promised, already turning back to his tv program. Some woman was giving birth in her toilet and it was dramatic as fuck. 

However, Peter wasn’t done. “Seriously, Stiles. I’m not going to have a good time with your dad if I’m worried you’re at home hurting.”

That got his attention. Peter was a master manipulator, even better than Stiles, and if there was one thing the wolf knew, it was that his and the Sheriff’s ‘bonding moments’ meant the world to Stiles. He was very pro-dad-and-boyfriend-getting along. 

“Okay, okay,” Stiles groaned, looking away from the screaming tv lady, “I promise. Now go. Have fun on your old man outing.”

“It’s not an old man outing; we’re going to a bar, not a crematorium.” Peter drawled and pushed his phone into his back pocket with a roll of his icy eyes. 

“Whatever, old man.” Stiles smirked. 

Peter smirked right back, “Careful, baby boy.”

Stiled choked. 

 

Water poured into the tub through three bubbling jets embedded in its sides. Rolling steam brushed against the open windows, turning to condensation and dripping down to pool on the sill. Outside the moon was full, hanging heavy in the dark December sky. Stiles hoped his dad was playing nice; tonight wasn’t the night to get Peter riled up. 

Once the bath was run, Stiles picked out a cloudy blue bath bomb and dropped it into the water, watching with quiet interest as it fizzed and hissed, leaving the water pale and smoke-like. He climbed into the tub and carefully lowered himself down, trying not to burn his ass and failing miserably. Stiles didn’t care all that much, though. The hot water helped numb the aching in his back that had returned not long after Peter left with the Sheriff. Really, Stiles knew he probably should have called Peter when the pain started up again like he had promised to do, but it wasn’t anywhere near the agony he had felt in his stomach so Stiles figured he shouldn’t waste his phone call on something as minor as a bad back when there was a very real possibility of shitting his organs out. 

Maybe that was TMI. 

He probably wasn’t dying though, he kept telling himself. He was cramping in a strange way that kind of resembled that feeling you get when you’ve eaten something you definitely shouldn’t have. It was like a clenching, tightening of muscle that started in his lower back and slowly spread around to his stomach. The cramping lasted for a few minutes each time before disappearing again and leaving him feeling as if nothing was ever wrong in the first place. It was weird and Stiles tried his best to chalk it up to a poor diet. 

Stiles closed his eyes tight and lay back in the water, enjoying the way the still dissolving bath bomb bubbled against his leg. If the pain persisted, he’d drop into the doctors some time during the week. He wasn’t worried or anything but he planned on eating a lot this christmas and that wouldn’t be possible if his stomach had descended to hell. And, okay, maybe he was lying; maybe he was a little worried. Peter was so intuned with Stiles’ body, he had a tendency to know when Stiles was sick before Stiles himself knew. Peter’s face when he had collapsed was enough to have him thinking he was at death's door. 

Yeah, a trip to the doctor wouldn’t hurt. 

After a long soak, Stiles sat up and reached for the shampoo bottle. It was a quick, fluid movement, one he had made many times before but this time, when Stiles bend forward, his arm extended, he felt like something in him snapped. It was a deep, swooping sensation - kind of like that feeling you get when you read something you wish you hadn’t - and then, as fast as it had arrived, the drop was replaced by sheer, excruciating agony. 

Stiles yelled, biting down on his bunched up knees to muffle his screaming. This pain was nothing like the cramping; while the cramping had hurt, had brought tears to Stiles’ wide eyes and made him roll around on his bed in discomfort, this feeling was nothing short of torture. 

And then- and then…

Between his legs, under the foamy, white and blue water, something  _ popped _ . That was the only way he could think to describe it: something down there had burst, and out of whatever had done the bursting came a flood of murky brown fluid. Stiles jerked and as the pain started to dissipate, reached his hand down instinctively into the water to touch at his asshole. 

For a brief moment, everything felt fine and then his fingers traveled higher… and deeper. Somewhere between his ass and his balls, a strange new opening had… opened. Stiles’ fingers unintentionally slipped inside and he hissed from the sharp, raw intrusion. He quickly pulled his fingers away, panic rising in his chest and scrambled out of the tub. 

What the fuck was going on? This wasn’t normal; it couldn’t be normal. Never in his life had Stiles heard of something like this and, of course, his mind immediately jumped to the supernatural. Maybe he had contacted some parasite that was eating him from the inside out and that was why he had a big fucking hole in his taint? Or maybe a witch had cursed him with something to make him peel open like an orange. Stiles had no idea but one thing he knew for sure was that he had to get to a phone before the next round of pain kicked in. 

Once he’d tumbled onto the floor he began to crawl. There was no way he could stand, not now that he was shaking and bleeding and felt too sick to even move. Standing would be a mistake and on his hands and knees he felt a lot more confident. 

Crawling, crawling, he managed to get out of the bathroom and into the attached bedroom before another wave of pain kicked in. It started like the others; a low, aching pain near his spine that circled around to his stomach and  _ clenched _ , turning his belly rock hard and contracting until he felt like his insides were being crushed to pulp. This time, though, on his hands and knees, Stiles felt something else. The pressure that had been building down there throughout the day suddenly became unignorable as whatever was inside of him began to try and get out. 

It was insane, straight up crazy, but Stiles was sure there was something inside him, something he was pushing out. He felt it move, sink lower, travel slowly, slowly and Stiles was pretty sure sooner or later he would be meeting exactly what it was. 

He needed to get to his phone. 

Stiles didn’t know how he managed it but by some miracle, he made it to the bedside table in one piece. With his back pressed against the bed and his legs spread wide, he reached up and grabbed his mobile. He hit Peter’s number by muscle memory, though the smart thing would have been to call nine-one-one. Stiles had no idea what he thought Peter could do that a team of doctors couldn’t, but something was telling him to reach out to his boyfriend, his alpha - so that’s what he did. 

Peter answered on the first ring and Stiles nearly sobbed with relief. “Something’s wrong,” he said, trying to keep his strained voice steady and failing miserably. 

“I know,” Peter replied and Stiles could tell even over the phone that he was running, panting from the exertion, “I’m almost home. Stay on the line.”

 

Barely a second passed between Peter lunging from the elevator and dropping to Stiles’ side on the bedroom floor. The wolf’s cheeks were pink, his forehead shining with sweat and his eyes glistening with a cross between panic and something else. Stiles didn’t know how he was still alive, never mind awake, but he was glad to see his boyfriend all the same. He reached out a pale, shaking hand from where he lay curled up in a tiny ball on the now damp carpet. Peter took it without question and kissed his bent fingers. 

“What’s happening to me?” Stiles asked, voice broken and grating from his screams. 

Peter shook his head and rubbed his hand up and down Stiles’ spine, a fruitless attempt to sooth. “I don’t know, love,” He admitted, “Let me take a look at you.”

Stiles nodded and tried to close his eyes; the cramps had exhausted him and during the brief five to eight minutes of reprieve he tried to save as much energy as he could. “‘S down there,” He slurred, not sure he was making any sense now that his body was starting to relax. Stiles suspected Peter was taking some of his pain, “‘S a hole in me.”

“What?” Peter asked, but found the answer to his own question when he moved to kneel near Stiles’ ass. He parted Stiles’ long legs, being so gentle despite his fear, and took a look. 

Then he gasped. 

As if on queue, another wave of cramps started up and Stiles couldn’t stop himself from trying to push. He cried out, raising onto his hands and knees and bared down, doing exactly as his body was telling him. Stiles expected Peter to tell him to stop, that he was going to damage himself but instead the wolf began stroking his hands up and down Stiles’ trembling thighs - encouraging him. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that,” The kindness and raw emotion in Peter’s voice made Stiles fall onto his elbows and bow his head forward. Stiles had always had a thing for praise and right now was when he needed it most. He was terrified, filled with a type of fear he’d never experienced before, but Peter was there with him and whatever Stiles was doing, he was doing it right. 

When the urge to push stopped, Stiles sucked in a wrecked breath. He felt dizzy and like he was going to throw up. There wasn’t much time to think about discomfort though because suddenly Peter was in front of his wet face, taking his burning cheeks between two of his hands and tilting Stiles until they could look into each other’s eyes. 

“Love, can you hear me?” Peter asked, blue eyes searching.

Stiles frowned, “‘Course I can hear you,” He slurred, looking at his boyfriend like he was an idiot in his delirious state. 

“Good, good,” He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ sweaty forehead and continued, “I know what’s happening to you and I promise you’re going to be okay. You’ve got to do exactly as I say though, okay?”

If possible, Stiles frowned even deeper. He wanted to go to sleep now, not listen to whatever Peter was droning on about, “I hate doing as you say,” He told him bluntly. At least he had enough sense left in him to be to the point. 

“I know,” A small smile quirked at the corner of Peter’s mouth and Stiles briefly thought about kissing it before the pain took over again. He tried to cringe in on himself, to huddle down and protect his stomach for reasons Stiles didn’t know nor understand but Peter kept his head up, clinging so hard to his face that Stiles’ cheeks started to hurt under the pressure. “Look at me, love,” He hurried, eyes filling with wildness yet again, “Whatever you do, don’t try and close your legs and don’t try to stop pushing unless I tell you.”

Stiles was far too gone to argue. 

Just as he was told, Stiles pushed. In fact, he found that he was in less agony when he did push, not much, but enough that it encouraged him to keep going even when his legs started to give out. All the while, through each agonizing wave of cramps, Peter stayed by his side, telling him how perfect he was and how he made him so, so happy. Stiles was now one hundred percent convinced he was dying. 

“Okay,” Peter said in a whisper, almost to himself, “Okay. Just one more set of pushes and you’ll be done.”

Done doing what, exactly? Stiles still wasn’t sure. There wasn’t much time for him to think on it, what with the feeling of being torn apart and the growing anxiety that he may be about to unleash a zombie plague upon civilisation. If he had been in the right mind, he likely would have put things together a lot sooner since apparently whatever was going on was so blatantly obvious to Peter. But, of course, he wasn’t in the right mind…

Stiles pushed once, twice - he felt something coming  _ out _ , actually coming out of him - three times. God, he was so tired and he hurt so bad. He couldn’t breathe, he just wanted it to be over.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Peter urged and Stiles shook his head, “Sweetheart, you need to push or they’re not going to make it.”

They? Who?

Stiles shook and sobbed and pushed again, even though all he wanted to do was collapse and die. He pushed again, one long one this time that made him scream through gritted teeth and clench his jaw so hard he thought it might break. 

Then, just like that, it was over. 

He still hurt - oh, fuck, how he hurt - but the pressure was gone, whatever had been coming out of him was out and now Stiles was left there on his hands and knees, shivering and panting and staring down at the bloodsoaked floor. Their carpet had once been cream. They were going to have to buy new ones. Distantly, Stiles was aware of a noise - a loud noise - and Peter moving around behind him. 

“Did I-?” Stiles began to ask, his voice shaking and barely audible. Surely not… that was impossible… But, werewolves were impossible and what Stiles had just done- But how? “Peter?”

“You had a baby,” Peter answered and everything fell into place. 

The weight gain, the exhaustion.

“That’s not possible,” Stiles whispered, still staring at the floor. He hadn’t moved since… since… and now he found he couldn’t. Whatever questions he had, he knew they’d be answered by simply turning his head but after that whole ordeal - he just couldn’t.

“It’s okay, Stiles. You’re both okay. You did amazing and I know you’re scared right now, that’s normal.”

Stiles shook his head, “Nothing about this is normal.”

“Maybe not to you,” Peter explained, wrapping something Stiles couldn’t look at in a towel. It was crying, “But this isn’t uncommon for my kind. I didn’t think it was possible for us, with you being human, but it’s okay. We’ll be okay.”

Stiles blinked and tears dropped down onto the ruined carpet. He tilted his head to the side, finally, and took in the sight of his boyfriend, the love of his life - and their child. 

The baby was tiny, so small it worried him and their small, turned up nose was flaring, taking in the scents of the room. Their eyes were closed tight and now that they were all bundled up, held firm against their alpha’s - their daddy’s - chest, they soothed. The baby was so, so perfect and now that Stiles had allowed himself to look, he needed more. Something instinctual made him reach one of his arm out, something deep in his chest telling him to bond with his young. 

“Easy,” Peter said, and gently placed the baby down on the carpet. Stiles went to protest but Peter cut in before he could with a rational explanation, in that annoying way he always did. “You’re in no state right now,” he said, “We still need to get the placenta out and get you comfortable. Once you’re sorted, you can meet our daughter.”

A daughter.

Stiles had a daughter. 

 

Despite her tiny size, the little girl weighed heavy in Stiles’ arms. She ran hot, and Stiles wondered if that was something all babies did, or if it was a werewolf baby thing. And this baby, she was definitely a werewolf if her twitching nose, yellow eyes or teeny tiny set of claws were any indication. That, and Peter’s eyes hadn’t bled away from red since he’d first caught glimpse of her squeezing out of… whatever the hell that was. Did Stiles grow a temporary vagina? And wow, that was a question he never thought he’d have to ask himself. 

“I love her,” Stiles said, staring down at his daughter’s perfect, pink little face, “I mean, seriously, like I would die for her right now. I’m shitting myself and I don’t know what the fuck we’re going to do but I love her.”

Stiles looked up then and found Peter staring back down at him, his eyes full of emotions that Stiles knew only he got to see. “I love you both,” Peter said and dipped his head down to kiss Stiles thoroughly, “And we’re going to be fine. I’ll take care of both of you.”

Grinning, Stiles carefully moved one hand out from under their sleeping child and pressed it against Peter’s face, “And we’ll take care of you, too.”

The two lapsed back into silence, content with watching their baby’s eyelashes flutter in her sleep as she dreamed about whatever it was babies dreamed about. While he was looking down at the baby’s precious face, something occurred to him and he lifted his head to look at Peter. 

“Where’s my dad?” He asked, suddenly worried he was drunk and lost somewhere in the city.

There was a pause where Peter smirked in that irritating way that made Stiles want to do very bad things to him before someone cleared their throat. Stiles widened his eyes and looked to the bedroom door. In all his life, Stiles had never seen his dad quite so pale. 

“Something you want to tell me kiddo?” His father asked, looking like he was about to topple over any minute. 

Stiles looked back down at his child - his peaceful, perfect child - then back up to the ghostly face of his father. He should have been worried, he should have been scared for his dad’s reaction but in that moment all Stiles could do was smile big and bright, from ear to ear. 

He shrugged and grinned, “I didn’t know I was pregnant.”

 


End file.
